


Death Comes As the End

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: A Language I Don't Speak [1]
Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, Episode Related, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not the spectre of his approaching death, no matter what fanciful ideas lesser mortals might come up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Comes As the End

James has never believed in a life after death - there is no evidence to support the theory - even after meeting Edward and Richard. They are, after all, still alive, no matter that they're supposed to have died.

Nor had he believed in the personification of death, or any other natural phenomenon, whether or not it could be explained by science. The gods could be explained as abnormals - superabnormals, sometimes, massive beings living mostly beyond human comprehension in a time before the rise of science - and ghosts and such phenomenon as superstition and fear of the unknown before the rise of science.

So therefore, the strange shadow that seems to have form, hovering at the edge of his vision since he left London, has to have a scientific explanation. It is not the spectre of his approaching death, no matter what fanciful ideas lesser mortals might come up with. If, of course, anyone else could see it.

If he weren't certain Helen would notice how close his body is to failing, he would ask her to check his eyes, and anything else he could think of that would explain the blot on his vision. Any concrete, provable condition, and not some flight of superstition.

If Nikola were there with them, instead of only he knew where, James might even be tempted to have him check over the machinery that keeps him alive for any flaw that might cause a disturbance like the shadow he can't shake.

Nigel, he'd ask for something interesting to distract him, if he weren't dead and buried for the last fourty years. Not tell him why he wants that distraction, but ask for it nonetheless.

John is those of the four who he might ask for some help with this, but he hesitates. Not just for the pain that has come between them, but for the pain that it would bring them both to force James to admit just how close he is to death. For John will tell Helen, and she will seek to save him when she should be focused on saving those harmed by the Cabal's virus.

So he says nothing, and they travel from Old City to Bhalasaam, the shadow remaining with him even there. Clearly something about his impending death effecting his vision, though not enough to prevent his finding the entrance to the catacombs where they must go.

It only changes once they have the vial of Source Blood, the shadow seemingly unfolding into a more definite shape, though he can't think of what it resembles for some reason. His mind failing him as his body does, and that is perhaps more of a blow than anything. Nothing to fight for if he doesn't have his intellect.

The voices of his friends fade to whispers that blend with others, strange voices that play at the edge of his consciousness as he fades, his body failing entirely without the aid of the machine to keep it alive. The shadow grows and changes, encroaching steadily on his sight until he sees nothing else, darkness drawn like a veil across his eyes.

His thoughts are harder and harder to grasp as his heart slows, his breathing becomes shallower. It takes him a few seconds to realize he cannot feel his fingers, or his toes, the numbness creeping upward as he tries to process each sensation of dying, though he will be able to do nothing with it.

All fades save his hearing, though he hears nothing of his friends, for all that Helen and John and Nikola must still be there. Watching him die, helpless to stop it, and he doubts they're silent. It seems less and less important, though, the worry fading with other emotions and thoughts that fragment under the growing emptiness - lightless, soundless, and weightless, all senses deprived.

Names fade, even the ringing sound of silence fades into nothing. He is nothing, floating in a sea of nothing, no longer worried by the lack.

 _I've waited a long time for you, little one._ That whisper is distinct in the silence that wraps him, a brief flash of light that defines the shadow, one last warm embrace. It is the last thing James Watson knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Agatha Christie.


End file.
